


Spiral

by hakura0



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, M/M, Second Person, all pairings are mostly implied, but there, rambling train of thought
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-11-21 13:21:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11358342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hakura0/pseuds/hakura0
Summary: There are two brunettes in the car that all but meets you on the tarmac.It doesn't matter how.It absolutely doesn't.





	Spiral

You wonder, sometimes, why John _wasn't_ a number. Why there wasn't enough intent directed at what he had been planning. It had been close, John told you later, the two of you aching and sore in a whirlpool tub in some hotel out of state. 

It isn't the answer to the question you had asked, wasn't an answer that you'd wanted. He changes topics like changing the channels on a television, but, despite the warmth of the water you're already cold.

The movies are wrong, you think, as John steps in front of a bullet for you. Having someone who would do anything for you isn't romantic. It's _terrifying_.

_The world can't afford to lose you_ , he had told you once. There had been something in his eyes, in his throat, even though he'd made himself leave. For however short a time.

His blood is on your hands like so much more, less theoretical than the others. It stains your suit. Ruins his own custom Italian suit, and you can't think of the ease that had settled back down upon you both that afternoon; the sun bright and the smell of wine in the air.

The ease, you know, had everything to do with being together.

His fingers threaded between yours, at the museum while you both waited for the alterations.

He leans on you and says he's fine despite the bullet that just went _through_ his chest and you wonder, heart in your throat, if you should have let him run.

He's right, it turns out. At least mostly. Sameen, instead, is very much not.

Root, you think, is right to blame you. Right to accuse, when you hinge onto your Machine's message for them to Stop.

Not because you've given up; but because you can't stand to lose someone else, too.

He catches your eyes on the healing wound more than once, and you almost wish that you could actually break _his_ trust too.

Get him to see that you are _just a man_. That you are guilty in all of this.

_The world needs you in it, too_ , you don't say, the words always caught too long behind parched lips.

He wouldn't believe you anyway.

You don't think it's fair. Not even remotely - not this. Not whatever broke, somewhere along the lines. Twisted what you thought you'd given him, a purpose - a reason to live, into something to die for.

Some _one_.

You've seen how the story plays out now; he gives his life to save you, and it kills you.

It's a terrible ending, one that doesn't acknowledge the times you've tried to protect him, for all he never, ever lets you.

_I'd like a little equality_ , you tell him one night while he is fast asleep, when you're the only one who can hear.

You dream that everything is fine, you dream of something like _retirement_. Picket fences outside of the city, and waking up to him with nothing but old scars. Of the nice young couple across the street, Sameen and Samantha who do - _roller derby_ in the city on the weekends, because there's nothing else the world _needs_ them to do. Bear, curled in front of a fireplace with a copy of _Chaucer_ half eaten in front of him.

Behind you? He dreams of the _library_.

You would give _anything_ to go back to when things were that simple too.

You wake because he does, and he looks guilty for it. When you sleep again, somehow, you have a gun and and a voice in your ear telling you that to end Samaritan before it begins you have to end the man in front of you.

For all you've done, for all you've asked of _them_ to do - you still can't conscience it. Still don't know how you ever thought _you_ could keep anybody _safe_.

The clock ticks and _there_ , despite your best efforts is the place where the world falls apart. _Italy_ , you think, since it's as good of a place as any to fade back into obscurity. Italy, where you got him back. You can't _count_ the people who have died for you any more, and you don't want to.

Sameen had called you, on your way, saying _something_ about Root that didn't make any sense. The call had dropped, but she hadn't sounded like she was in danger. Had seemed _fine_ when you dropped Bear off with her.

The flight is commercial, but you can't be bothered really with anything else. You sit at the window, turn down the cool air and pointedly ignore the seatmate you couldn't avoid. Up until they thread their fingers through yours.

_I really shouldn't fly right now_ , John tells you, _is there any chance we could reschedule?_

You don't know whether to cry or hit him, but there is no ignoring the clammy fingers between your own.

_You idiot_ , is all that you manage and he laughs even at that, even with how scary pale he is. But he lets you help him off the plane.

It isn't over, you don't think. But one page of the story is. There are two brunettes in the car that all but meets you on the tarmac.

It doesn't matter how.

_It absolutely doesn't._


End file.
